


bad intentions

by heavensgate



Series: take my hand, crush it up [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vibrators, a little bit of a praise kink i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensgate/pseuds/heavensgate
Summary: Patrick:i need to see you.Patrick:i miss you (unsent)or how the light of the motel sign flooding through patrick's eyelids is just pink enough to remind him of the way pete blushed.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: take my hand, crush it up [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748077
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	bad intentions

It’s dim, but Patrick can still make out the shape of Pete’s shadow above him through heavy eyelids. Although, Patrick feels more than sees Pete— Pete’s fist tight and fast around his hot cock; Pete does a thing with his wrist, this jerk and rolling motion that makes Patrick groan out into the silent room. Pete’s mouth opens in a laugh but no sound comes out as his movement begins to slow into something more languid and teasing.

“Pete,” Patrick whines, hips stuttering off the bed to thrust into the air. Patrick opens his eyes and there is nothing there but the long lines of light from the neon sign outside, dimly illuminating the room.

Right. Pete wasn’t actually here.

Patrick bites down on his bottom lip, hard, this electric burst of pain that blooms all over the bottom of his face; it’s painful of course it is, but then it ebbs into warm pleasure that he feels pool down to his feet. It makes sense, that’s a lot what being with Pete used to feel like; like ocean water as high as his ankles, pulling him in deeper and before Patrick realizes it, he’s neck-deep in the blue.

Patrick stretches to his right side to reach for the lube, desperately trying not to think of Pete, Patrick’s thought about him enough; if Patrick thought about him anymore, he might end up doing something he’ll regret. There is a slight tremble as Patrick manages to get the cap off and slick his fingers. Crossing two fingers together, Patrick circles his hole before pushing in gently, breath hitching as he did so. Pushing in too quick, Patrick feels himself stretch around his fingers and it burns a different way than biting down does, this one piercing and leaving him feeling full and hollow at the same time. Distantly, Patrick thinks he should have started with one finger first to get used to the stretch, it’s been a while since he’s done something like this. 

As the pain twists into pleasure, Patrick’s thoughts drift off to Pete the way it does, but this time Patrick finally lets himself drown. There is Pete and his brown skin glowing gold no matter what motel room or gig bathroom they were in; there’s Pete’s dark eyes growing darker, black holes that suck Patrick in; the soft murmur and vibrations of Pete’s voice as he loses himself in messy kisses around every inch of Patrick’s skin. As the memory of Pete’s whispers echo behind Patrick’s ear, Patrick pushes in another finger. At this, Patrick lets himself groan out, a twisted sound that might rhyme with Pete’s name.

When Patrick’s stretched himself open until that biting edge of _just enough_ , he reaches for the vibrator sitting next to him and slicks it up. The vibrator is sleek heavy metal that Patrick bought three cities ago on a night out by himself; he hasn’t quite found the time to use it until tonight. It’s cold as it is lifeless, but just the weight of it makes Patrick whimper as he imagines it in him. Turning it on to the lowest setting, Patrick presses the vibrator to just under the head of his mostly ignored cock to test it out. The vibrator trembles and a sharp pleasure like lightning runs down Patrick’s spine, making him cry out and remove the vibrator immediately in fear of cumming so soon.

Patrick feels harder than ever, aftershocks of pleasure still thrumming under his skin like electricity. Patrick turns the vibrator off and slowly moves to push it in him, holding his breath. It _aches_ , Patrick already feels full and it’s only halfway through; the vibrator longer than Pete, but only just a little thicker. Patrick closes his eyes and thinks of Pete over him, pushing in slow and stuttered, hips pressed close to his, Pete’s warm breath on his face, the way Pete would say, _fuck you’re so tight_ and Pete would laugh but there would always be something in the way he looked at Patrick, something deeper than want, that always left the laughter caught in Patrick’s throat.

Patrick exhales the breath he had been holding when the vibrator finally bottomed out; it’s a delicious stretch that makes Patrick curl his toes, precum dripping. Patrick doesn’t let himself rest for more than a few seconds, already angling the vibrator to brush across his prostate and turning it on. The vibrator bursts into life, but it's drowned out by the sound of Patrick crying out. Even at its weakest, the vibrator is unforgiving, making Patrick throw his head back to groan out slowly. Patrick chases the feeling, bears down on the vibrator, and it feels all the more intense, his dick aching to be touched.

“Fuck, Pete.” Patrick whines, feeling tears spring in his eyes from the intensity of the feeling.

 _Saw videos of you on Twitter,_ Pete had admitted on the phone, voice low and raspy.

Patrick imagines himself on stage, face blushed pink from exertion, a thin sheen of sweat making him glow underneath the harsh spotlights, thousands of people in front of him, but he only saw Pete in the crowd. Patrick thinks of what Pete thought of him now, the way he grinds on stage, the suits, the fingerless hand gloves, the bottle blonde that Pete liked his girls in.

Patrick isn’t proud of it, but sometimes, thoughts drift to Pete in the middle of shows, the phantom feeling of Pete’s sloppy kisses on the back of his neck, tongue searing him, and leaving him with invisible burns whenever he licked Patrick’s already fevered skin. The neon sign outside pierces through Patrick’s shut eyelids and it reminds him of the stadium lights, of Pete pressing into his back and grinding his dick into Patrick’s ass, this tease of what would happen after the show. Sometimes, Pete would dare a quick comment that would leave Patrick breathless and distracted, head dizzy as he tried to remember how to sing the next lyric. Patrick remembers the feeling of pushing his aching dick into his guitar, moving his hips in shallow stuttered motions only Pete could catch, anything to get the pressure off of him; the friction of it only making it worse but Patrick kept on chasing that pleasure anyway.

 _Would you like that? Would you want me to watch you?_ Patrick thinks of what Pete had said that night, voice like static over the phone but Patrick still felt the warmth, the heat of _wanting_ in Pete’s voice. Of course, Patrick would want him to watch. Fuck.

 _Show me how bad you want it,_ Pete used to tell him, this sharp smile more teeth than mouth on his face; even the memory of it makes Patrick feel warm all over.

Imagining the weight of Pete’s eyes were on him, Patrick lifts his hips and arches his back off the bed, spreads his legs wider, digging his heels into the mattress. Patrick turns the vibrator up and his body thrums with it, making him gasp out, his vision blurring around the edges. Patrick wraps a loose fist around his cock, jerking himself off slowly— he was so achingly close now, Patrick can feel it. Patrick lets go of the vibrator, leaves it faintly pressed against his prostate, to take his aching cock in his hand.

Patrick thinks back, way back to years ago but the memory is still _so_ vivid he could taste the salt and sweat. Patrick remembers the blush spreading Pete’s olive chest, his skin darker than it usually was because of summer shows spent outside; the heat and the sun poured down on their backs in the late afternoon, but at night, after a gig, it’s Patrick’s own special show: Pete on his back, eyes taking Patrick in as he rode him. Patrick remembers the feeling, the twitch in his thighs, his nails digging down deep into Pete’s chest, leaving thin red lines like crosswalks, Patrick remembers tracing his lips over it, kissing it better.

“Pete, Pete, Pete.” Patrick keens, and he’s not sure if it’s from a memory or if he’s speaking out loud into the empty room. “So close, ‘m so close. I need— I need—”

There’s the phantom touch of Pete running his fingers through Patrick’s sweaty hair, of his fingers gently cupping Patrick’s cheek— except this time Patrick only leans into the roughness of the motel pillow and bites down hard to keep his whines in.

 _That’s my pretty boy,_ Pete would say, encouraging him softly, always with a hitch in his throat when Patrick bounces on his dick with renewed energy at the praise, _What do you need, I’ll give you everything._

“Want to— want to come with you.” Patrick breathes out, eyelids fluttering, he knows he said it aloud this time. Patrick turns the vibrator on to the highest setting, it surges into a crescendo, Patrick’s body an orchestra, and Pete the conductor with the phantom fingers all over Patrick’s body.

 _Such a good boy for me,_ the memory praises him again and Patrick fucks the vibrator harder into him, no style or finesse, just the steady pressure of the vibrator hitting his prostate every few thrusts, _But you can let go now, baby. You’ve been so good, you deserve it._

Pete used to say Patrick was made of sound; talked and breathed music, and right now there is a symphony underneath Patrick’s skin breaking through with the pleasure. Patrick cums like that, squeezing the vibrator that was still shaking, spilling all over his stomach.

Patrick pulls the vibrator out of him quickly after that, ass protesting at the sudden loss, and throws the toy to the floor. Patrick shudders from the sensitivity, it feels like all his nerve endings had been burnt. Grabbing the hand towel he had ready and carelessly wiping off the cum, Patrick thinks of how Pete used to do this for him, grabbing any ratty shirt off the van floor and treating Patrick delicately. They were never together, never anything more than messy sheets and sloppy kisses, but there had been a time when Patrick had been okay with deluding himself enough to believe the softness in the way Pete acted around him after meant something.

A long time ago, Patrick saw just how incompatible they were when he realized he didn’t want to be loved, he just wanted to be saved— and it had been the opposite for Pete who thought that it was a savior he craved for and not just someone to help carry the weight off his shoulders. Patrick aches and it’s not so much for Pete but the abstract idea of him, the general feeling. It would hurt if Patrick got into the specifics; there is the faint memory of Pete kissing the back of his knee, Pete soothingly rubbing off the cum on his stomach. There used to be arms around him after the fucking, Pete spooning him to keep him warm, a naked leg thrown over him and keeping him there so Patrick had always been forced to wake up the next morning and count the freckles and sunspots on Pete’s face until the other man woke up. Patrick hates how it plays out in his mind, how despite it all, he’s still thinking of Pete.

Patrick grabs his phone off the side table, far enough that he had to make an effort, far enough that he could think about what he’s doing and stop himself, but never far enough to fight back against the painful twist in his chest that only loosens up when Pete replies.

 **Patrick:** _i need to see you._

 **Patrick:** _i miss you (unsent)_

**Author's Note:**

> found this in my drafts lmaoo i was supposed to post this when the hand crushed remix dropped but i think i was busy rewatching fma:b and never finished it anyway i edited this in between my study breaks and finished it hope u enjoyed this lil fic !


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